And Miles To Go Before I Sleep
by LetMeBeBrave2016
Summary: She's making soufflés again (or trying to), something she hasn't done since the one with the bow tie. AU, takes place after The Witch's Familiar. TRIGGER WARNINGS EVERYWHERE: depression, substance abuse, possible self-harming tendencies, very dark emotional places. First DW story. Twelve/Clara with possibly romantic tendencies.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: well, here we go...I've had this idea in my head since I watched too many Twelve/Clara videos on Youtube...I also have a really bad habit of identifying with a character to the extent of projecting my own thoughts into that character. Hence this story. So...yeah. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Your face is doing that thing it does when you're sad. Make it stop."

"Hello to you, too," Clara grumbled, barely glancing up from the wall (which she pretended held her attention). "You know, you could have knocked."

"Well, you wouldn't have answered, now would ya? You've not spoken more than two words to me since you got in the TARDIS, and they were 'shut up' before you stormed into the study to do the thing with your face and pushed the lock button. Unfortunately for you, the TARDIS is mine, and I have sonic sunglasses."

"Bravo, Doctor, _bravo_. Now would you mind getting out, please? I can't concentrate."

"On what could you possibly be concentrating!? The wall in here isn't set to do anything remotely interesting, and you can't possibly _think_ the makeup you aren't wearing into existence."

 _He actually noticed I'm not wearing makeup?_

" _Of course_ I noticed you didn't put that toxic paint on your face. How could I not notice that you actually look younger than me today?"

Clara scoffed. "Did you just read my mind?"

"Eh, just your eyes. Although the telepathic link helps. Now, would'ya bother to tell me why you look sad?"

"It's just been a rough morning." Clara sat up and swung her legs to the floor. "I need to do some baking."

"Oh, for the _sake_ of it all - not again! _Clara!_ " The Doctor's forehead creased in frustration as he followed his best friend (who had gotten a running start) out of the study. "You can't attempt soufflés in the TARDIS every time your chemicals flare up, she doesn't like the smell when they come out wrong!" He glanced around quickly, attempting to discern which hallway and which kitchen - "Why do you even _have_ two kitchens when we didn't use either of them before Clara came along?" he grumbled to the TARDIS, which made a sound more akin to an indignant huff than a hum - before choosing the left hallway and sprinting down it. The last thing he needed today was Clara destroying yet another soufflé and using up the last of the eggs and milk.

Kitchen doors opened. Blue kitchen. No Clara. "If the TARDIS lets you set the red kitchen on fire without activating the extinguisher, it's _your fault!_ " he shouted down the hall.

Okay, so maybe that wasn't fair. It wasn't that Clara was an awful cook - in situations where they had either been stuck on a random planet or he had stayed in her flat longer than intended, she did quite well whipping up dinner - but it had been over a year, when he was still the one with the bow tie, since the last time she had attempted one of the cursed soufflés, up until about six months ago. After the dream crabs, she hadn't been quite right - and she had started back onto the old nostalgic hobby she had once let go of. Only now, she was attempting them in the TARDIS - something about her landlord "not being okay with her baking so much."

"I promise I won't burn the kitchen up, now just _leave me alone_!" he heard from somewhere within the TARDIS. With a sigh, he moved back to the control room, realizing that he couldn't stop the impossible girl from doing whatever she wanted. After all, she practically lived with him these days…

* * *

Clara slammed her hand against the countertop as the open oven revealed yet _another_ sunken, ugly soufflé. "Sorry, Doctor, but you're out of milk," she muttered angrily as she removed the ramekin from the oven and dumped it into the disposal, which hissed at the temperature. " _Sorry,_ old girl."

Days like today - days when waking up was hard, nothing went right, going to work was excruciating, socializing was beyond her capabilities - days like these, well, _sucked_. She'd had so many of them in the last ten months that she didn't know what to think anymore. Her hand went to her temple, trying to massage out the irritation and avoid the tears welling up in her eyes. Making her mother's soufflé was another thing in her life she couldn't do right - and it was just compelled to continue haunting her. Funnily enough, it hadn't up until Danny's death. When all the flowers were gone and there was nothing left to do - when the Cybermen had come and gone, as had the mourners, friends, family - when the Doctor believed her lies and left, all she could do was revert back to her old addiction. Other than being expensive (after all, there are only so many eggs in a carton and so many boxes of milk in a supermarket), it was a harmless addiction to have…but the satisfaction never came. She would never measure up, never truly be her mother's daughter.

Ellie was dead. Ellie had been dead for over a decade.

Danny was dead. Danny wasn't coming back. His one chance…and he'd sacrificed it to cleanse his soul. Something she could never do, in all her selfishness.

Clara sank to the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees, a single tear escaping her eyes, words spinning wildly in her mind. The same lines from the same song which had plagued her for months - _"staring at the bottom of your glass, hoping one day you'll make a dream last/'cause dreams come slow, and they go so fast/you see her when you close your eyes, maybe one day you'll understand why/everything you touch surely dies…"_

If she never heard it again, she'd always remember those damn words. Because they were her life. She wasn't one to connect such sentimental thoughts, even as the creative mind she was. Such things were cheesy, and they annoyed her. But when the song had come on the radio during the Doctor's eternally long silence, it resonated.

Mum. Danny. Gran, recently. She hadn't mentioned that one to the Doctor. Who could be next? She didn't have many more people she cared for, except _him_. And at the absolute worst, he could drop her off in Glasgow one day and fly away in his blue box, forgetting about her entirely…

After all, she was a curse on everyone she loved. They either died or they left. Plain and simple.

 _I need a drink_.

"All right," she whispered, leaning sideways to rummage through the lower cabinet on her left. At the back of the cabinet, she found several familiar bottles, with the frontmost one carrying a Post-It note reading: _For the day you finally decide to have a drink with me. Spoilers ;) - River._ Clara reached for the half-empty bottle just behind it. She couldn't read what was in it (and the TARDIS refused to translate anything on any of the bottles), although the Doctor probably could…but it wasn't the Doctor who had been into the cabinet lately. He probably had forgotten that it even existed.

Which made everything in it fair game. _Sorry, River, but you know he's not going to drink any of this_.

"Here we go again…" as she popped the cork out and took a long, long swig.

It was going to be an interesting adventure today.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: So...this chapter is not my best. This story is probably not my best. It's been a long, long time since I wrote anything. I'm not even sure where these two are going in this story. If you've decided you like it and want to keep reading, thank you so much. I would really appreciate some reviews, though! ;) Enjoy!**

* * *

 _A few weeks and several adventures later…_

"No more water planets," Clara panted as they fell back through the TARDIS doors. "Nope. Definitely not. No more planets composed primarily of water."

The Doctor rolled his eyes and ruffled his own hair, attempting to shake the excess moisture out. "Clara, you do realize that your own planet is almost exclusively water? You humans are basically being loaned tiny squares of land above water. If the fish on your planet had brains and the willpower, they'd have taken back _their_ planet _centuries_ ago." He paused, racing his fingers across the TARDIS interface, figuring out where to go next.

"Yes, I'm aware that I live on a fishy planet. Do you realize that I live in _London_? However, at least on Earth, we don't have murderous native non-mermaid fish-people _things_ who make sport out of drowning anything without gills!" She shuddered. "Which goes to remind me that I smell horribly of fish - as do you. I need a shower. Can you take me home really quickly before we go anywhere else?"

The Doctor's eyebrows furrowed quizzically. "Why do you want to go home just to shower when we have at least five showers in this ship?"

"Well…" she replied, drawing out the word slowly. "I need new clothes, so I need to go back to my flat."

"You have clothes in your room, Clara. I'm not even sure the TARDIS could keep track of what all you've left in that room."

"Doctor, I'm _cold_. Those are all summer clothes. It's October!"

"Not every planet has an October, Clara, and you know full well that we could end up in the middle of a summer somewhere. If you need a coat when we arrive wherever we go, I'm sure I can procure one, but I don't see the reasoning for making a trip home when you aren't staying."

Clara let out a long, pronounced sigh as she moved to stand directly beside him. "Doctor, I need to go home. There are a few…things I need to pick up…you're a male and a Time Lord, you wouldn't understand." She pulled out the stops - widening her eyes, imploring him to comply with her request, even making herself blush slightly as if sheepish. She could see the resolve forming in his face, as well as slight embarrassment as he realized what she was talking about.

"Of course. Well, all right. I shouldn't have given you a hard time about it." He hesitated, and their eyes met momentarily. "But it's just to pack more necessities, correct?"

"Absolutely. I'm not staying at home."

Relief flooded him, and he pulled the lever that would materialize them right into the middle of her flat. Exhaling the breath she didn't know she'd been holding, she turned to exit the TARDIS, only to feel a hand catch her by the arm. Fighting off a yelp, she scraped by with clenching her teeth as she turned back to the Doctor.

"Clara…is everything okay?"

"Of course it is, everything's fine." She pulled her arm out of his grasp and reached up to clap him on the shoulder, smiling. "We're good. If you want to wait in the den, you're welcome to. I'm sure you've read all the books I have, but there's nothing wrong with rereading - and you're always welcome to clean my kitchen for me. I'll only be fifteen minutes, I swear." She winked as she backed out of the TARDIS and made her way towards her bedroom. A moment later, she heard him close the doors and shuffle to the sofa, grumbling something along the lines of "fifteen years…"

Shaking her head, she quickly threw half of the fall and winter contents of her closet into a bag before rushing into the bathroom.

* * *

Five minutes later, as she pulled on dry, clean clothes, Clara caught a glimpse of herself in the still-foggy mirror. _Goodness, no wonder the Doctor asked if everything was alright. You look terrible. Get it together, Oswald_ , the little voice in her head whispered. It was right, but the words still stung. The haunted, tired look in her eyes was complemented in the worst way by the ever-growing dark circles underneath them, and she had lost most of the sunny glow from one of their more recent adventures, leaving her to appear pale and completely exhausted. She let out a slightly audible sigh as she glanced down at the scars on her left arm, tracing her finger over the newest, brightest red line, just below her elbow.

She had been lying to the Doctor. She hadn't had a cycle in months - probably the TARDIS and the whole time-travel thing screwing with her hormones, not to mention the events from the previous year - and she would have been fine wearing the other clothes she had on the TARDIS for a few more weeks under normal circumstances. But that would require him to see her forearms - something she simply couldn't allow. He didn't need to know that his brave, somewhat controlling, witty Impossible Girl had a pervasive darkness in her mind…one that even the rush of saving the universe couldn't bring light to. She had told him she was fine since Danny had been gone almost a year, and it was halfway true. She had been doing better slowly, immersing herself in teaching her students and adventures with the Doctor.

Then the postcard came.

Great. The tears were back. She seemed to cry a lot lately when she was alone.

"Clara! I'll have you know it's been fourteen and a half minutes!"

" _Damn it_!" she muttered. "I'm coming out of the bathroom now!"

Moments later, as she carried her bag into the den, she stifled a laugh. Her sofa, once placed on the wall nearest to the hall, was now facing the hall on the opposite wall, completely on its own except for an end table and a lamp, meaning that _everything else_ was now on the opposite side of the room…photographs, the television, the bookcase…

"Oh, you've redecorated…I don't like it," she teased, bemused. He smirked at her from inside the TARDIS.

"Well, I was _bored_ ," he replied. " It's much more interesting this way. Now come on - miles to go before we sleep!" He winked, and it dawned on her as she closed the TARDIS door behind her.

"Doctor…where are we going?"

"Well, Miss Oswald," he replied, eyes twinkling, "we have a date with a Mr. Robert Frost. Fascinating man, really - even for an American in the early twentieth century."

One of her favorite poets. She should have known that was what he had planned. This - the occasional surprise trip to meet one of her most highly-esteemed literary geniuses - was just one of the many little reasons she loved traveling with the Doctor…and loved the Doctor himself. Even with the occasional moment of grump and complete confusion, he was still her best friend, and the only one who could always make her smile.

"Perfect! Can I fly her this time?"

* * *

As his best friend walked circles around the console, pulling switches she understood to do one thing or another, the Doctor stepped back and furrowed his brow.

She had lied about needing to go home. He knew that much - he'd used the TARDIS to do a full body scan when she was gone. No hormonal imbalances indicating the human reproductive cycle in full swing, although brain chemicals were strangely questionable. The soufflés were one thing…but lying to him?

 _Oh Clara, what are you not telling me?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who is starting follow! I admit, this is really dull and depressing content, but Dark Water through Last Christmas, plus Clara's blatant recklessness throughout S9, got me thinking a lot. Anyway. WARNING ABOUT THIS CHAPTER: MAJOR TRIGGER FOR SELF-HARM, AND SOME FOR SUBSTANCE ABUSE. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.**

* * *

 _I don't know where I am…I don't know where I am…I'm breaking…Danny…where is Danny…no…NO…come back…help me…where is the Doctor…DOCTOR! Where are you!? HELP ME!_

Clara's eyes flew open and she awoke with a start at the sound of her own screams in her head, sitting upright in bed. Her entire body was rigid, frozen in terror, barely able to breathe. Her face felt stiff, and as she regained movement she touched her face, finding newer tears streaming down, as well as dried ones clearly sticking to her skin.

Whatever that nightmare was, it had gone on for awhile this time. If she could only _remember it_ , maybe she'd know why she was having it.

With shaking hands hardly able to grasp, she reached for her phone to check the time. Three-thirty. _Seriously?_

No point returning to sleep now, especially since she would have been waking up a mere two and a half hours later. The last several times she'd had a nightmare, she had been able to quickly soothe herself back to sleep. Not so tonight. Though her body was still exhausted, her mind was wide awake, racing, her pulse pounding violently in her ears. She swung her feet off the edge of the bed, kicking underneath it (just in case), and lurched to standing. Wrapping her robe around herself, she pushed open the door to her room and headed down the long corridor to start her day with a splash of cold water to the face.

Of course, while pouring herself a large mug of coffee fifteen minutes later, the hair on the back of her neck rose trying to remember her nightmare. Most people would be thankful to not remember a nightmare - but not Clara Oswald. Nightmares tended to have distorted premonition quality for her from time to time - a sort of deja vu effect, which was why forgetting them was terrifying. All she could remember from this one was crying out for both Danny and the Doctor - which meant, thankfully, that it most likely wasn't something she would be facing later.

But it still unsettled her nonetheless.

Her hands were shaking again, and she very nearly spilled coffee all over the counter. With a quick glance over her shoulder, making sure the Doctor was, in fact, nowhere near the kitchen, she pulled the lower cabinet door open with her foot and ducked down, grabbing one of the smaller bottles that, again, she could not read, but she knew that this one had a sweet taste to it and would take the edge off her nerves. She quickly topped off her coffee with a few shots from the bottle before shoving it back in the cabinet and exiting the kitchen. Hopefully, a few moments of peace would be had in the control room…if the Doctor wasn't already planning their next near-death experience.

The Doctor wasn't awake yet, as she soon discovered. She hadn't figured much out about what he got up to at night, but she knew he only slept about three hours and usually didn't go to bed until well after midnight. She probably had plenty of time to compose herself, to let the caffeine and the alcohol kick in before she needed to put her bubbly face back on.

Not so. Moments after she had sat underneath the control panel and started on her coffee, she heard one of the doors from the upper floor _whoosh_ open. Quick strides down the stairs. _He's awfully sprightly for being over two thousand years old…_ she thought absentmindedly, before curling up closer into herself and hoping he wouldn't notice her right away.

"Clara? What are you doing awake? Is it six already? And why are you under there?"

 _Damn_.

"No, no, it's only four," she replied with a sigh as she slid out from under the panel, making sure not to spill her coffee. "I…woke up and couldn't sleep anymore. Thought it might be nice to relax for a few minutes."

He looked her over before his eyes settled on hers and his lips pursed with knowing concern. "Nightmare, eh?"

How did he know her so well when he was so very clueless?

"Well…yes. I think so. I don't remember it. It's not a big deal. Nothing to worry about." She stretched and yawned, trying to be nonchalant, only to have him catch her wrist and look her in the face with even more concern.

"Clara, nightmares _are_ a 'big deal,' especially when you're you. Or me. People like us, we've seen it all. Monsters, the bogeyman…they don't scare us. If something is to be considered a nightmare, it has to be beyond monsters. Something deeper that needs discussed. You may not remember it. But your face says more than you remember." His nose wrinkled as he smelled the coffee wafting up to him. "Also, I think you burned the coffee. It smells odd. Like one of those revolting drinks River stashed in the red kitchen."

She froze, reaching desperately for an answer, a subject change, anything to throw him off. "It's, uh, it's fine - it may have gotten a little overdone. It tastes fine to me, though." She took a huge gulp from her mug, and before he could speak, she began to chatter uncontrollably. "So, where might we be going today? I was thinking we could try that one planet you told me about that is completely obsessed with Disney in the 5300s and has built their own version of Disney World. Or we could go revisit Jane Austen. Or maybe we could go to 1920s America…I saw a lovely flapper costume in the bedroom next to mine and-"

She stopped when the tips of his fingers covered her lips. She watched his jawline tighten and her shoulders slumped a little in defeat, knowing she had failed to be nonchalant and had him either angry or worried.

"Clara Oswald…what are you not telling me? You just panicked over the coffee. There is something, and don't lie. There has been for awhile. You didn't make soufflés for a year, but you now dash off to do it every time something goes wrong. You have said so many times that you'd never lie to me. Yet you're hiding something. You aren't you. The eyes…they aren't what they used to be, and I can't figure them out. What in the hell is going on?" He grabbed her mug away from her and sniffed again before his eyes widened. " _Is_ this partly one of the drinks in the kitchen? Don't think I haven't noticed things being moved around in there."

So he wasn't completely oblivious.

"I'd like my coffee back, please."

He held it away from her. "Not until you tell me what's going on."

"Fine - you want the truth? Yeah, I've been taking from the cabinet. It's not like _you'll_ ever drink anything out of it. I need something to take the edge off my mind, and sometimes adventures just don't do the trick!"

"Clara." Just the sound of her name from his lips made her freeze. Not even her name - but the way he said it. Emotion boiling under the word. "How much is 'something?'"

"A few shots when my soufflés are flat. If I have to cook dinner. If I make coffee. If we almost die on some random planet and I need a moment to _breathe_."

"So…every day, at least three times a day."

She bit her lip nervously. "Yes."

The Doctor inhaled slowly, appearing to count to twelve.

Then he chunked her mug to the ground, causing it to shatter and making her yelp as she jumped back. Tears filled her eyes. "Doctor-"

He held up his hand, quieting her, as he flipped switches on the console. The TARDIS slammed itself into gear, knocking Clara to the floor, before materializing…somewhere. The Doctor snapped his fingers, opening the TARDIS doors to reveal her bedroom. "Get out."

"I…I'm sorry?"

"Get. Out." His words were clipped. "Clearly, traveling with me is a danger to you right now, and you need to spend time at home. I will not have constant drinking and life-threatening behavior on my TARDIS - why do you think she doesn't translate the bottles? - and you have developed a death wish with your penchant for both. Get out. Go to bed. Get up. Go to work. Live your life for awhile. I would rather lose you to a normal life than have you get killed from being drunk on the job!"

"Doctor, please." She was crying now, though she wished she weren't. "Please…I can make it stop…I just don't know how else…"

"Clara. Begging will do you no good, and you clearly won't stop." He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of the TARDIS. "Goodbye, at least for now." He slammed the door shut behind her, and within seconds, the TARDIS de-materialized, leaving her a crumpled, sobbing mess on the floor.

 _Just as I expected…everyone leaves, Clara…everyone you love leaves…you're a curse on all who know you. They'd all be safer without you!_

"No… _no_ …NO! SHUT UP!" she screamed at the voice in her mind, covering her ears, though she knew it was right, and the kitchen knife and sleeping pills were in her hands before she could control her body…

* * *

And just like that, she started awake and shot up in bed, droplets still pouring down her cheeks. The sheets were soaked with an icy sweat. Her mouth hung open, as if she had been actually dreaming out loud, and the tremors moving through her body were more violent than she thought possible.

Her eyes darted from one side of the room to the other, taking in the scenery as they adjusted to the darkness. TARDIS bedroom. Not flat bedroom. Two-thirty in the morning, according to her phone. _Just a dream. Just a really, really bad dream._ The Doctor had _not_ abandoned her in her flat.

 _But he will, if you don't get your act together. You're a pestilence to him - just another human who gets in his way. It's only a matter of time…_

She dreaded the thought as it came, not because she couldn't control it…but because it could very well be right. And suddenly, it all began to boil over. The tremors worsened as her anxious mind raced, none of her thoughts coherent, but all equally awful nonetheless. And then the craft knife from her nightstand was in her hand, sleeve rolled up (soon it would be both sleeves - she was running out of room). She saw the blood from the freshly drawn lines before the pain even registered in her mind, which slowly began to clear as the adrenaline and endorphins rushed in. With deep, deep breaths, she grabbed the peroxide out of the same drawer, as well as the clean cloth she had washed the morning before and gently began treating the new marks to avoid infection. In the middle of doing so, reality - and guilt - punched her like a clenched fist to the gut.

 _What am I doing? How did I get here?_

 _How much longer can I keep this quiet?_

Endorphins wearing off already. She then proceeded to reach for a tiny bottle in the second drawer - the same bottle from the nightmare - and take a long, long drink. The unreadable neon alien writing on the bottle mocked her internal struggle, seeming to laugh at her fears, just like the voices in her subconscious.

The alcohol didn't take long to kick in, and thankfully, it made her eyelids heavy this time. After wrapping her arm gingerly with gauze, Clara slid herself back under her duvet, she closed her eyes and was asleep within moments.

 _And I've grown familiar with villains that live in my head - they beg me to write them, so I'll never die when I'm dead…_

* * *

 **A/N 2: Final italic is from "Control" by Halsey. It seems to be a favorite for Clara videos on YouTube, and I've gotten obsessed with it.**

 **Also - please feel free to leave reviews and favorite/follow!** **Thanks for following the progress of this story so far!**


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